


Wild Runes

by bjorn_ironside



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Falling In Love, Hate to Love, Heahmund is a real warrior and dumb at learning, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Ivar (Vikings) is a Little Shit, Love Bites, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Strangers, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:13:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjorn_ironside/pseuds/bjorn_ironside
Summary: To get to know the heathen tactically, Bishop Heahmund is sent to Norway - and has to make friends with the rough world of the Vikings. He learns a lot - not just tactics of war. (I suck at summaries. :D)
Relationships: Heahmund & Ivar (Vikings), Heahmund/Ivar (Vikings)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54





	1. en

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you will know right away - but folks, I've had this thought in my head for so long, and since I'll be home for a long time due to an operation soon, I had to start writing this. :D Many of you will see that the idea of the story is actually from Avatar - Pandora! But I could imagine Heahmund and Ivar so much in this that I just had to write this, I'm so sorry! :D I hope of course you like it anyway and it's something different! Heahmund gets to know the world of the Vikings, that can be so exciting... :D By the way, I've posted the translations from Norwegian in another note box below so that you don't always have to switch back and forth to google translator. Have fun! <3

**\--- Prolog**

There was an extremely hard blow on the wooden table, so hard that all the jugs on it fell or spilled over. It was the first time ever - in years of wonderful, sincere mask - that Heahmund lost patience and could not control his physical anger. He stared up at the king with a drawn face; he couldn't believe what he had just heard.

_Why him?_

"I cannot do this! I don't see any reason why we should continue this type of warfare! It’s the fifth mission that you have sent there! The _fifth_! Nobody returned and nobody could find out anything! Not a single one! My King, you make a huge- "

"Mistake? Oh no. It's the last chance we have to try it that way. So far, we have only sent monks and scholars to them, and none of them could do anything. They were too _soft_ , Bishop Heahmund. You are a warrior of God! And maybe they just need this warrior blood that will appeal to them. We need the information. We will perish if they plan another battle on our countries. I also want their gold."

"My Lord…"

"It is a command and not a request anymore."

Heahmund bit his lip hard, his eyes still narrowed in anger, but all he could do was nod. He had no other choice, and he knew that if he refused now, one way or another they would send him there, to this cursed land, to these backwoodsmen, these hideous barbarians.

Bloodthirsty monsters, unbelievers. _Scum_.

Heahmund could think of other ugly words, but he kept them in his head; with a curt bow and a brief nod, he finally disappeared from the hall, not without giving another fatal look to one of the guards who had dared to wear a barely visible grin at the corner of his mouth.

The king's gaze bored into his back as he slammed the large doors behind him.

**\--- Among savages**

It was the coolness of something wet and a hard beat to the jaw that brought Heahmund back to his senses.

With a wild cough, the Christian awoke from his faint. It took a moment before he even noticed anything - but then, as slowly as the water that ran from his shoulders, the memory came back too.

He had not yet arrived a day in these countries, which were so full of wilderness and forest that he was lost; by then, in the middle of nowhere, a small group of savages had attacked him. Heahmund had fought them off well - too well, it turned out. For after a wild exchange of words one of the savages had conjured up a small tube, put it to his lips - and in the next instant Heahmund felt a short sting in the neck, and before he could turn around he had simply slumped into the darkness.

It must have been poison, and with the painful awakening from the fainting, Heahmund slowly felt the aftereffects of the poison, which tingled horribly in the neck and caused a soft sting.

But that was nothing compared to what he saw when he slowly opened his eyes.

How many there were - he couldn't count them. But when he slowly raised his head and looked around, he saw hundreds of pagans standing around him, gone wild, screaming, and upset. They roared, screamed, and some threw some vegetables at him. Heahmund tried to move, but felt that he was tied up; thick, hard ropes encircled his arms, and to make matters worse, he also wore heavy anklets.

No chance. He couldn't move an inch.

There were torches everywhere, for it was light twilight; Heahmund sat up easily on his feet, for his knees were slightly sagged in a loamy soil that looked a little muddy. The screaming of the people hurt his ears, and to make matters worse, he felt his anger boil beyond measure.

He was not used to standing on his knees in front of a pack of savages, all of whom looked like the last village trampling. And certainly not tied up like a mangy dog waiting for his food.

With a slight grunt, Heahmund stared at some of the people around him; they were farmers, no question about it, but their faces were as twisted with anger as he felt it inside. Something warm ran down his temple, thick and damp, and Heahmund didn't even have to look at his pants to see what color the drops were. It could only be blood, his own blood, wasted and misspent by these inhuman barbarians.

Suddenly someone kicked him hard in the back; Heahmund fell into the mud with a groan, caught himself only with his elbows, while small drops of mud rushed into his hair and face. He hissed, but a second kick followed, followed by a few rough words in a somber language that Heahmund couldn't understand.

"Flytt deg, Krist!"

Heahmund clenched his fists, cursed inside for a moment, before he pushed himself off the floor with a hard movement and got up as best as he could with the thick cuffs around his legs and hands. His black leather armor was stained with blood and grime, and to make matters worse, he still felt the throbbing pain of the poison on his neck. But it didn’t help him, absolutely nothing, to become weak now, which was why he turned provocatively to the culprit who had kicked him in the back.

It was a foul-smelling guy with wild hair; however, he was not much taller than Heahmund, who was quite tall himself. His beard was long and unkempt, and he kept shouting at Heahmund in his unchristian language, spat at him. Heahmund opened his eyes further up slightly with anger, dared to take a step towards the tall man, who was still screaming with all his might.

The people around them were shouting and cheering on the unkempt man, it seemed - but Heahmund didn't care in the least. He had endured a lot lately, but the thread of patience inside was tearing more and more. With one rough movement he threw his fists at the man, and he even hit. His fist hit the big man right in the nose, but it didn't take a second before the disgusting guy roared loudly and swung back. His heavy fist hit Heahmund so hard in the face that he spat out a gush of blood and was tossed slightly to the side. Some residents pushed Heahmund back into the middle, in the direction of the barbarian - the barbarian raised his fist for a new blow when a loud whistle interrupted the entire scene.

Silence spread as suddenly as the screaming had come - and not only Heahmund turned, but the entire people around him.

A little further ahead, on a kind of village square, surrounded by several splendid torches, a kind of tribune was set up, at the highest point of which a man with a long beard sat, his shaved head full of tattoos. Heahmund knew immediately who it was - he had met this devil for only once in his life, and he closed his eyes for a moment before glancing again at the stands.

_Ragnar Lothbrok._

King of the savages, king of the Northmen, and feared enemy of the English. He looked amused; a coarse grin crossed the corners of his mouth and he waved one hand lightly.

"Ta ham hit!"

A whisper went through the crowd, harsh whispers in a foreign language, and Heahmund felt another kick on the back of his knees. With a low hiss, he moved slowly forward, flanked by the tall, foul-smelling guy he'd just hit on the nose, who was bleeding profusely to his inner delight. Strange pairs of eyes stared at Heahmund, following every step he took until just before the podium, where he was kicked again in the lower back, so that he fell to his knees again.

The ground was harder and his knees hit a little harder than in the mud before; but Heahmund stood firm. His head lifted and he stared up at the platform where several people were still seated.

Next to the throne with the king and queen was a table with two benches on the left, at which five young men sat, all of whom looked amused and drank from jugs. Heahmund only looked over briefly - but he suspected who it could be. He had heard the stories about the famous king's sons.

„Så her er han, en annen kristen fra det fjerne England. Men tror du ikke at han virker mye mindre feminin enn de andre?“

Laughter went through the ranks of the heathen, and the king, amused, leaned a little further down to look closely at Heahmund. The flash of blue eyes sent a shiver down Heahmund's spine, but he held the gaze of the legendary man. Ragnar grinned even wider, and then leaned back again.

„Han ser ikke ut som en munk! Mer som en kriger. Tok du våpen fra ham?“

Heahmund did not understand a single word, nor had he bothered to learn a word before leaving. So he was surprised when the big man behind him cleared his throat and answered the king.

„Vi har tatt et stort, tungt sverd fra ham, min konge.“

„Et sverd?”, Ragnar asked, and since the guy behind him said nothing, Heahmund assumed he was nodding. With a low sigh, Heahmund sat down on his heels again to relax his battered back at least a little.

There was silence in which Ragnar looked only at Heahmund; his eyes slid slowly over Heahmund’s body and stopped at his eyes, which Heahmund had still fixed on him.

“You are different from the others who came here. Who are you?” the King of Norway asked in Heahmund’s language; he had a rough accent, but Heahmund could understand him well. Heahmund let out a soft breath a moment before he started to answer. A light breeze went around, drawing the smell of crackling fire closer.

"I am Bishop Heahmund of Sherborne, and I am ... I was sent here to learn."

"To learn?", Ragnar’s voice seemed puzzled. It had grown so quiet that even the rough wind could easily be heard as it drew through the crowd and the torches; it smelled of fresh, slightly wet wood, and Heahmund nodded slightly. That was what his king had told him to say. And it was really only up to the king now whether Heahmund would find death tonight or not.

"What does someone like you want to learn from us?" Ragnar began, and Heahmund felt how every glance in the entire village was on them. It was a strange feeling to stand so helplessly in the center, watched by so many pairs of eyes that wanted to destroy him. Wanted to see him dead. Including Lothbrok's sons, all of whom were watching the scene intently. Only one of the boys drank from a jug with amusement and held a piece of bread in his hands; his face looked excited.

“I should learn your customs in order to bring peace between our peoples. We don't want any more war.” Heahmund answered hoarsely; his throat felt rough because it must have been hours since he'd had a drink.

Ragnar raised an eyebrow; the blue eyes showed a span of excitement, as if a thought were racing through his head. The Heathen King watched Heahmund for a while, then he leaned on his knees with his elbows.

“Then why did you carry a sword? Everyone who was with us did not have any weapons with them. It was pitiful, almost feminine-looking Christians who we all slaughtered. But you are different."

"I'm not a monk either - I'm a warrior," Heahmund said roughly.

“A bishop with a sword? Bishop and warrior? That's something I've never heard of even in England,” Ragnar hissed. And though his voice was raw, Heahmund could see a certain spark in it. It was as King Eckbert had suspected - the Heathen King was interested, for he was not averse to the new in the world. They stared at each other for a moment, then Heahmund nodded slightly.

"I am also the only warrior of Christ in my church."

Ragnar laughed softly. "As a matter of fact. Now-"

„Du burde drepe ham, far. Bare en død kristen er en god kristen.“ A voice had interrupted the conversation - Ragnar and Heahmund followed the origin of the voice.

The rough words had come from one of the sons. He had plaited dark hair and looked rebellious in his black armor, and his canine teeth were so sharp that Heahmund thought for a moment that the devil was sitting across from him. He looked with disgust at the young little bastard who had interfered in a cheeky manner while the other sons had remained silent.

Ragnar snorted roughly and stood up; the boy took a swig from his mug and let out another, toothy grin.

"Hold kjeft, Ivar," Ragnar said rudely, and the boy glanced at Heahmund, who returned the look as disparagingly as possible before Ragnar turned back to him.

“You have to excuse my son, he's a little cheeky. Well, like I meant to say - I'm not going to kill you, not yet. You should get your chance with us. Learn well, and maybe we will learn something from you too. And then we'll see if we can accept your king's offer. As long as you are here, one of my sons will take care of you and teach you our way of life and customs. Ivar!” Ragnar called; the crowd was still silent, and when his name was uttered the cheeky son of just lifted his head.

„Du vil lære ham alt om våre skikker. Han vil lære av deg hvordan vi lever - og du vil gjøre det bra.”

There was a laugh from another of the sons, from a golden curly boy, and the boy from before, Ivar, opened his mouth. His forehead immediately twisted into a bitter grimace and he hissed: „Du er ikke seriøs, far! En kristen? Nei!“ His face even flushed slightly with anger, and Heahmund could read enough from that reaction to understand that this son had apparently been chosen to be his companion. While the other, blond boy next to Ivar almost choked with laughter, Ivar hissed and threw away his mug.

„Det er bestemt, og oppfør deg nå!“, Ragnar let out angrily, and the disgruntled young man crossed his arms over his chest in insult while the rest of the brothers apparently pestered him and made fun of him.

Heahmund did not move; a slight tremor from the exertion had shot through his limbs, and he looked up again at Ragnar, who had stood up and was saying something to the people in the strange language, probably his decision. There was lively encouragement or rejection, Heahmund could not understand it; however, people looked at him rather disparagingly.

When Ragnar finally said something to the big man behind Heahmund, he grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and loosened his bonds with an ax; he unlocked the chains on his feet, albeit with a deep grunt of bad humor.

When Heahmund finally felt freedom in his legs and arms again, the meeting slowly broke up; Ragnar nodded to him.

“My son will show you where to sleep - it's getting dark and morning in the village starts early. Learn well and you will find out that we are not that bad after all. I know you Christians well."

"Apparently not good enough!" Heahmund replied, and Ragnar gave a harsh laugh before giving a loud whistle.

"Ivar!" he yelled, and the boy from before got up with an extremely transfigured expression on his face and extremely awkwardly. Only then did Heahmund see that something was wrong with the boy. He didn't get up normally; he had crutches, which he took from one side of the bench, and his legs were stuck in thick rails that were clasped with clasps, which allowed him to stand unsteadily. It took the apparently youngest son of Ragnar Lothbrok a long time to get up on the crutches and drag himself over to them; he dragged one leg extremely, and his cheeks still had marks of the hot red of anger on them. Heahmund looked away from time to time; it was strange, he had hardly seen a cripple in his life. Certainly not a savage.

When the youngest son finally stood next to Ragnar, still chewing angrily on his lower lip, Ragnar nodded to Heahmund.

“Heahmund, this is Ivar. He's my youngest son, and despite his disability, he's the smartest tactically. He will teach you everything - including our language.” Then, Ragnar turned to his son, who looked back at his father with furious eyes. „Du vil oppføre deg selv, Ivar. Lær ham alt, så får du også en belønning for det. Jeg vil ikke høre noen klager. Han heter Heahmund og er en kriger. Vis ham hvor du sover.“

The boy wrinkled his nose, then hissed: „Han skal ikke sove på rommet mitt! Rommet mitt vil stinke av ham.“

Ragnar laughed, then roughly grabbed the boy by the neck and hissed: „Ingen motsetninger. Gå nå!“

Ivar bit his lip, then nodded and cast an extremely disparaging look at Heahmund, who was still standing there, rooted to the spot. His ears burned - he couldn't understand a word, and yet he thought he knew roughly that the boy was extremely reluctant to accept his assignment.

When their eyes met, Ivar nodded to him. „Følg meg.“

Heahmund gave Ragnar a quick look, but Ragnar only nodded and pointed to Ivar, who had moved a little further. It took him a while to get down from the dais, but then he looked back at Heahmund and pointed in one direction. Heahmund assumed that he should follow him - which is why he went after the cripple at a distance.

It took the boy a long time. Heahmund could see that he was trying to walk as steadfastly as possible, but walking with the crutches was apparently not as easy as expected. But Heahmund did not complain. He followed the heathen without further words until they came to a large wooden hut, on the outside of which hung a strange structure of small sticks. The air still smelled of campfires and furs.

When they entered the hut, Heahmund saw a relatively large room; There was a basin and a washtub in it, and on one side a large bed that was heaped with furs - and on the opposite wall at the end of the room was another bed that didn't look as soft and inviting as it did the first; however, Ivar nodded over to the second bed, and uttered a quiet "Der sover du!" Heahmund frowned; he didn't really understand but assumed he should sleep there.

He nodded roughly to the boy, who shuffled after a click of his tongue and the appearance of another frown on his forehead to the large, fur-covered bed, while Heahmund stood in front of the other.

He had run out of weapons and the only thing he had was his armor on his body and his cross chain. For a moment he thought - should he take this protection off too? But after a while he realized that he was exposed to these pagans - no matter what he did. So, he opened the buckles of his leather armor and took them off together with his lower, black shirt, so that his upper body was free. He only wore the necklace and his pants.

When he felt something tingling in his neck, he turned to the heathen boy; he had looked at him, and when Heahmund’s gaze met him, he quickly looked away and turned his back to the Christian. Heahmund let out a deep breath before he lay down on the bed and covered his upper body with the thin sheet. But he wasn't cold. His body was still trying to process everything that had happened here so quickly.

Where did he end up here?

And would the heathen keep their word?

The night was quiet - except for a few animal noises, including an owl that screeched to announce the dead silence of deepest night.


	2. to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and I hope you have a nice, good evening my friends! <3  
> Many thanks to the subscriptions, kudos and comments for this story! :) I'm very happy about it and hope you continue to enjoy it! As always I have translated everything from Norwegian to english for you in the infobox below. Thank you and have a nice evening! <3

\--- **The Stranger and the village**

It was the rustling of clothes that made Heahmund wake up from sleep the next morning. For a moment he thought he felt that he was still at home in England - but a faint groan made his memory of the previous evening quickly return.

He had slept badly. Although the nocturnal noises were no stranger to him, it was still a strange place. The boy's quiet breathing at night had been disturbing, and the many noises the animals made at night had made him toss from side to side.

But Heahmund lifted his torso and sat on the edge of the bed, and soon his movements were registered by the heathen, who was still scowling; the boy was about to put on his black armor, which, like Heahmund’s, was completely made out of leather. The boy stared at Heahmund for a while - the blue eyes wandered up and down on the Christian’s body until he finally wrinkled his nose.

„Vann er der. Du er skitten.“, he said; Heahmund just raised an eyebrow and returned the young man's gaze with a frown.

"I don't understand a word.", Heahmund answered and sighed; the young heathen rolled his eyes and looked again at his armor; his slender fingers tightened a strap before he said softly, “Water is over there. You are dirty."

Heahmund's mouth fell open slightly; he stared at the boy, who still did not raise his head and seemed to be completely absorbed in putting on his armor.

"You speak my language?"

Speaking was an exaggeration, Heahmund thought - the boy's accent was horribly harsh, and at first had made Heahmund doubt whether it had really been English - but still, he understood what the boy had said.

"Bit." was the short answer to Heahmund’s question, and the boy finally looked up again with his blue eyes. They looked at each other, while Heahmund spread his arms to show his bewilderment. "Why didn't you say that?"

“You should learn to speak. In our language."

Heahmund let out a snort, shook his head once, and finally got up. He pushed his body up from the bed to head for the basin, which was filled with clear, if cold, water. For a moment he only propped himself up on the small table on which the basin stood - he stared into the sink for a brief moment, exhaling deeply. He really was dirty, caked with all the mud and blood from yesterday. And yet he asked himself why _for god’s sake_ he had taken on this task. But it would change nothing right now, so he just washed himself and wiped all the dirt from his body. He knowingly tried to ignore the flickering gaze of young Lothbrok, which wandered here and there over his scarred body.

Ivar was an impatient person, Heahmund noticed that immediately when he set off with Ivar. The crutches seemed a little lighter today, or the ground was just drier - because the boy was much faster than yesterday. The sun was shining that day, and although it was already busy all around them, Heahmund couldn't avoid looking around again and again.

In contrast to England, the village - or the city, for they had been walking for a few minutes - was a little different from what he knew. Most of their huts were made of wood and stone was rarely used in construction. Everything was also kept quite simple, both the clothes and the many stands and things that he saw.

He was stared at like an animal by the residents. They wrinkled their noses when he passed them or gave him critical, judging looks. Heahmund ignored that; he followed Ivar, who kept turning around impatiently whenever Heahmund's gaze lingered on something.

“We're going to eat now, with my brothers. In the great hall.”, Ivar said and pointed to a large building. Heahmund fixed his gaze on it, then slowly back on Ivar, who looked at him somberly, if with a trace of curiosity.

"I have to admit - I'm very hungry," Heahmund replied, and Ivar let out a snort.

"Spise. Vi skal spise. Say it.” The boy's tone was harsh, and he still looked as if he didn't feel like doing the job he had been given. Still, he nodded to Heahmund.

"Spise. Vi ... what?"

“Avskum. Come on."

Heahmund took a long breath - he didn't like taking orders from one of these people, but he had no choice.

So he followed the stubborn Viking into the hall, which was also made of wood; yet it was not to be despised. Inside it was comfortably furnished with fires, and many benches with fur adorned the spacious hall. A throne could also be found here, but the king was not present.

At a large table in one corner of the hall were the same young men from yesterday, and they all raised their heads when Heahmund came to the table with Ivar. It took Ivar a while to sit down and Heahmund waited patiently before sitting next to him. The gold-curled boy from yesterday stared at them penetratingly, then said something to Ivar.

„Han ser dum ut. Og siden du fremdeles er mer dum, vil du ikke kunne lære ham noe. Far må drepe ham.“

Ivar just rolled his eyes and said nothing; he pushed a plate of bread and meat over to Heahmund, and a jug with a golden liquid in it. When Heahmund looked up, Ivar snorted.

"Eat."

The young men began to eat again, and so did Ivar; Heahmund waited a moment before taking a bite of the bread. It was baked differently from what he was used to, and yet it tasted quite delicious. But when he took a sip from the cup, his throat suddenly burned - he had to cough immediately, because he hadn't expected something like _that_.

"Han er svak!" the tallest of the brothers said and laughed out loud; the others followed with laughter as Heahmund twisted his mouth and coughed again.

There was alcohol in the mug.

_Damn pagans!_ He didn't expect them to have this for breakfast. Where did he end up here? With a group of all-day drunk, unbelieving backwoodsmen?

The brothers were still laughing, except Ivar; he just put on a mild grin before briefly glancing at Heahmund and pointing to the mug.

“It's mead. In the winter months, it warms the stomach and wakes you up for the day. Drink. We have big plans.”, the young Heathen said shortly, and Heahmund only nodded slightly. Although Ivar had a heavy accent, he understood the boy. For a moment his gaze flicked over the fine scar on the heathen cheek before he took another sip from the mug.

This time it didn't burn so much, and the bread softened the taste.

Heahmund made no effort to understand anything in the conversations between the brothers; he only ate, and after a while waited for Ivar to get up; it took a little longer again, and all of his brothers were gone before the two of them finally left the hall.

“I'll show you the village. We have everything we need. Forge, food, hides.”, Ivar explained; they walked along an unpaved path, past teeming stalls full of goods, simple wooden cages for cattle, geese and ducks. Past mountains of furs on simple wooden tables. And the smell of fresh fire wafted everywhere, mixed with something sweet.

Heahmund took a deep breath. Although he was still very angry inside for having accepted this task, for being in this goddamn country with a bunge of wild pagans, he still enjoyed this strange, wild world. He listened to Ivar, who explained everything as well as he could, if in a few words, still bathed in that rough accent.

It took a while before they came to a strange little hut in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the village. There were many different wooden structures on the outside; strung on threads, it seemed. Heahmund raised his hand and touched one of them, excited on how this strange thing felt like. A hand got in the way, however, and slapped his away - it was Ivar, who hissed sharply.

“Don't touch it, fool! This hut belongs to the seer."

Heahmund furrowed his eyebrows and frowned at Ivar, who was looking at the hut and then back at Heahmund. The blue of his eyes was deep, and yet something was reflected in them, similiar to a wild sea.

"A seer?" Heahmund asked with a snort, and Ivar nodded slightly.

“He sees everything that lies in the future. Only people who belong to us are allowed to visit him. When the time comes, you can visit him too.", Ivar explained in a soft voice that sounded almost a little reverent.

Heahmund looked at the door, which was also covered with strange hangings, similar to the one on the wall. He looked at the structure and a little goose bumps came over his skin, although he didn't believe in such nonsense.

“Nobody can see into the future. Only God can do that."

A cough rang out from the side, and when Heahmund turned his head to one side, he saw Ivar laughing at him; his teeth flashed slightly, and he eyed Heahmund.

"That's rubbish. You are a fool if you believe in such a thing. The seer knows everything."

"Did he tell you your future, huh?" Heahmund replied, slightly angry at the pagan mockery; however, Ivar just grinned.

"Yes, he did. And now come on, fools can't visit him anyway."

They went on until they came to the edge of the village, which led into a dark looking forest. Heahmund tensed his body slightly - he had no idea what to expect and he looked briefly at Ivar, who was already walking further with his crutches. The heathen had already run so far ahead that Heahmund only caught a glimpse of the back of his neck - and for a brief, very brief moment he imagined how the skin of the heathen would probably feel... or even _taste_. Because Ivar’s neck, despite his good physical stature, seemed to trigger something in Heahmund - a burning sensation. But he swallowed this burning sensation down and followed the boy, who called out a word to him from the undergrowth.

"Skog!"

"What?"

“Skog! That means forest, say it."

Heahmund snorted angrily, and also stepped on a large branch that broke loudly under his weight.

"Damn it! Skog."

He heard a low chuckle.

**\--- The forest**

It was a clearing flooded with light, surrounded by fir trees, in the middle of the forest that they encountered. Ivar’s brothers were there and Heahmund saw that they were training. With bows, knives and axes. They had various things in this clearing - among other things, a little further away, two severed heads of deer were hung, which had been pierced with arrows. Baskets filled with axes stood under nearby trees in which a few axes were hanging or thrown in. The fresh grass smelled good, and Heahmund looked around in amazement. It was absolutely quiet in the forest, except for the chopping of axes and the low grumbling of the brothers training together.

Ivar had pulled himself up on a stump that stood in the middle of the clearing. His crutches were propped up against a tree, and the Viking was pulling himself into the correct sitting position when he beckoned Heahmund over with a rough wave of his hand. Heahmund glanced briefly at two of the brothers who were fighting with axes before he went over to Ivar.

The boy looked at him and adjusted his body before saying anything.

“We practice here, almost every day. It keeps us healthy and ready to fight."

He reached next to the tree stump and pulled out a wooden bow with an arrow. Heahmund eyed the bow skeptically and raised an eyebrow.

"I only fight with my sword," he said dully, but Ivar only hissed and pressed the bow and arrow so tightly in front of his chest that Heahmund had to gasp.

“We Vikings fight with bows and arrows and with axes. We hunt our food ourselves. It is important to master all types of combat if you want to win.” Ivar uttered, and watched Heahmund examine the bow in his hand.

"I can’t do this -"

"Learn.", Ivar grunted, and turned around slightly with Heahmund in the direction of the deer's head. They were perhaps an arm's length apart, and a sweet smell came over to Heahmund; the same one he had already smelled this morning.

Ivar gestured at the deer's head with a hard movement of his hand. Blood was still dripping out below, out of the throat.

“Shoot him. You have to score.” Ivar said roughly. Heahmund narrowed his eyes slightly and tried to aim at the animal's head.

He took up the bow and arrow, and took up the position he had seen so often among the riflemen on the roofs of England.

But from the side came a coarse snort, and with a slight hiss Heahmund felt that Ivar roughly hit his stomach and chest with one hand.

"Stronger, stupid." Ivar showed him the upright position sitting on his tree trunk, and Heahmund tried to imitate it.

His first shot missed well, and he sighed.

Ivar looked after the arrow; his gaze stayed on the deer's head, then he let out a deep breath and glanced at Heahmund.

"Again," he said curtly, and Heahmund took another arrow from the quiver near the tree stump, close to Ivar’s legs. However, the Viking did not move an inch.

When Heahmund picked up the bow again, he felt a second hard blow against his chest, which made him gasp slightly.

"Stronger! You have to feel the arrow."

"The arrow ... what? How are you supposed to ...?” Heahmund hissed, and Ivar let out a deep snort. He reached next to him again, took out a second bow, and sat up straighter. Heahmund watched him, albeit surly.

Ivar apparently knew exactly what he was doing. His torso was bolt upright, but he still had both eyes open and aimed, completely still, at the deer's head.

When he let go of the arrow, it shot at breathtaking speed in the middle of the animal's eye, and Heahmund's breath was gone for a moment despite his inner anger. He turned to Ivar, who looked at him briefly.

"Not bad.", Heahmund said, and although the heathen didn't make a face and threw another dark "Now you!" at Heahmund, he didn’t miss the fact that Ivar had a slight grin in the corner of his mouth, which he quickly made disappear again with some effort.

Heahmund only scored after a few times, and only then when he finally took Ivar’s beats and words to heart and did exactly what the young pagan told him to do.

“You have to learn to turn off your head and see things for what they are. You think too much.” the Viking grumbled, and Heahmund rolled his eyes.

"I’ve never used a bow and arrow and I never will."

"If someone takes your sword - what do you do?" Ivar asked. His blue eyes stayed on Heahmund, and the Christian looked at the boy. He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm looking for another weapon."

"What if the enemy only has bows?"

Heahmund hesitated a moment; he felt something like heat seeping through his limbs, and yet he tried not to give the impression that it bothered him too much.

"You can also strangle someone with a bow," he said hoarsely, and for the first time since his arrival, a warm, light smile graced Ivar’s lips before he turned around on his tree stump.

Heahmund followed his gaze. The tallest of the brothers and another one with a long braid were fighting with axes, and Heahmund watched it before he heard Ivar’s husky voice next to him saying something to them in cold Norwegian.

"Björn, kjemp mot den kristne."

The brothers did not stop the fight immediately; they kept fighting until the larger one of the two defeated the smaller. Only then did he turn to Ivar and adjusted the fur around his shoulders.

"Krist! Kom hit.” he shouted, and Ivar gave Heahmund a gentle nudge in the back.

"Go. Fight against him."

"What?"

Ivar hissed and pointed to Bjorn, who had huge shoulders and licked his lips aggressively.

It wasn't that Heahmund was scared, ever. However, he wasn't trained to fight with small axes - he missed his sword. With his sword he would have shown these disgusting barbarians who the strong one was around here.

Heahmund walked steadily up to Björn and nodded to the tall man - he was a little taller than Heahmund, and when he stood in front of him, Björn thrust the handle of an ax into his hand.

"På tre."

"Pa ... what? What does that mean?” Heahmund asked, but in the next second the ax came thundering at him with a brutal force and the Christian had to dodge hard to escape the sharp edge.

"Damn it!" he cursed, dodging the ax again before he began to think about using his own.

But the wooden handle was small, and it felt awfully unwieldy; he was not used to fighting with such light weight in his hand. He tried to use the wooden handle as a weapon, but Björn got ahead of him and hit his nose with the wooden end of the ax so hard that it cracked terribly and threw Heahmund backwards for a moment. He stopped, but something spun in his head. He could hear the other brothers shouting something, but he couldn't understand.

Blood rushed out of his nose, a tremendous stream of blood, and he finally blocked a blow with the sharp edge, even if it took a lot of strength.

He heard someone calling his name - but he only concentrated on not being beheaded by Björn.

The fight did not last long - after a few more blows Heahmund was lying with his body on the floor, gasping for air.

The brothers cheered and Björn grinned down at him. Heahmund propped himself up on his elbows and glanced over at Ivar, who looked the least amused of the brothers. He nodded briefly to Heahmund, and Heahmund stood up.

He'd never given up easily, and also this time he wasn't about to.

He landed with his face in the dirt exactly three times before he could even begin to defend himself. He knew it was all down to that damned ax that was so light in his hands. But he won once, and Bjorn let out a gasping laugh. He patted Heahmund on the shoulder and said something to his brothers, two of whom snorted; Ivar, however, looked amused. He was still sitting on the stump, his feet drawn up, and kept looking at Heahmund when he came over to him again.

He wiped some of the blood that was now running down his temple and nose, and met the young Viking's gaze.

“One can see that you are not used to the ax. You have to keep in mind that the ax always has two sides.", Ivar said weakly, and laughed softly as Heahmund wiped some more blood away with his dirty sleeve.

"I’ve noticed." Heahmund said curtly. He couldn't help but notice that Ivar was still looking at him; when he didn't stop, Heahmund looked at him aswell.

"You really only believe in one god?" Ivar asked, pointing to the cross chain on Heahmund’s neck. The Christian let out a slight snort.

"There _is_ only one God."

Ivar bit his lip. “There are many gods. You will see. Tonight, there is a festival that always takes place at the beginning of autumn. We honor and worship the gods, and there is as much alcohol as anyone can drink until they fall over."

"This evening?"

Ivar eyed Heahmund; his gaze wandered briefly over Heahmund’s shoulders, then back to his eyes.

"Yes. You will be drunk like never before in your life! But before that... you should go wash up. Come on."

Ivar slid off the stump and crawled on the floor towards the crutches; it looked strange because he was pulling himself through the tall grass like a snake. He must have an incredibly strong upper body, was the thought that shot through Heahmund's head as he watched Ivar hoist himself step by step onto his crutches without making a face; when he noticed Heahmund’s gaze, he nodded towards the trees.

„Gjennom skogen. Tilbake til landsbyen.“

„Gje… Skogen? Wait, that means forest, right?” Heahmund uttered, and he saw how Ivar’s mouth curled into a big grin and the blue eyes looked at him from below. He gestured toward the trees with a softer movement this time, and Heahmund followed.

When Heahmund couldn't repeat the sentence until the fourth attempt, Ivar let out a laugh.

„Lúre.“

"What does that mean again?" Heahmund snorted, and when Ivar looked at him, the small, pointed teeth showed above his lips.

"It's called: fool."

He actually hated this place. He actually hated these people, their disbelief, their strange, filthy ways. And yet - when Ivar looked at him with an amused twinkle in his eyes, Heahmund couldn't help but laugh a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) „Vann er der. Du er skitten.“ – „Water is there. You’re dirty.”  
> 2) „Spise. Vi skal spise.” – „Eat. We are going to eat.”  
> 3) “Avskum.” – “Scum.”  
> 4) “Han ser dum ut. Og siden du fremdeles er mer dum, vil du ikke kunne lære ham noe. Far må drepe ham.“ – “He looks stupid. And since you're still stupid, you will not be able to teach him anything. Dad has to kill him."  
> 5) “Han er svak!" – “He is weak!”  
> 6) "Björn, kjemp mot den kristne." – „Bjorn, fight with the Christian.”  
> 7) "Krist! Kom hit.” – “Christian” Come here.”  
> 8) "På tre." – “On three.”  
> 9) „Gjennom skogen. Tilbake til landsbyen.“ - "Through the forest. Back to the village. "


	3. tre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thank you for the many kudos and such things, really! :) I am always very happy about everything! And on it goes ... Today there is only one translation, I will add this to you at the end of the story so that it does not reveal anything. Have fun! :)

**\--- The feast**

Heahmund took a deep, almost biting breath; he inhaled so deeply that his lungs almost burst, but otherwise he couldn't get used to the scenes that were going on around him.

The festival of the pagans was his chosen personal hell.

He had been in this area since dark; it had been festively decorated, although Heahmund found the festivities not exactly inviting. Skulls of dead animals hung everywhere, fires burned their deep furrows in the darkness of the night, and wild heathens danced and crept about everywhere. They were either disguised or dressed in their traditional costumes - some had their faces painted, others were walking around completely naked.

It was a strange sight for Heahmund. He himself wore his black leather armor, as always, and looked at the whole festival with a rather sullen expression. He had quickly pulled away from Ivar and his brothers, all of whom were already pretty drunk - some of them had been painted scary things on their faces, and had talked mockingly in their wild language. Until Heahmund had had enough and wanted to get an idea of the traditions for himself.

His feet carried him to a splendidly decorated place; in addition to the usual skulls and bones, there were also hides and wooden benches. It invited one to linger - if one were looking for the permanent smell of fire and all kinds of herbs in the nose. With a soft sigh, Heahmund wrinkled his nose and sat down on one of the benches. He still had his goblet with him and held it tight; it contained mead, the drink Ivar had given him in abundance; until Heahmund abdicated at some point with a slight grin.

There was no way he wanted to lose control of this festival, at any cost. This blind rumbling and the wild outbursts of these people were the pact with the devil; when Heahmund tilted his head a little to one side, he could see a woman taking two men by the hand and disappearing with them. Pushed through the masses of people who were already doing it - and nobody cared. Women did it with women, men with men, and sometimes there were even groups of people who indulged in their gross lust for one another. Heahmund looked away with a snort before someone sat down next to him.

It was Ragnar, who looked extremely amused and held a spilling goblet in his hands before placing a hand on Heahmund’s shoulder and looking at the Christian with his big blue eyes.

"Do you like it here with us?" the great Viking whispered to him, and Heahmund took a sip of mead from his cup without looking too closely at the great king. His eyes roamed over the revealing surroundings and he grinned slightly.

“A little strange. We don't know such ... festivals. In my belief it is outrageous how people behave here.” Heahmund said softly in response; the mead made his head dizzy, and Ragnar laughed harshly.

"Ah.", he said and looked at the Christian with a grin; his fingers slipped into one of his pockets as if he was looking for something. “You know, Christian, or rather Bishop - I had a Christian by my side myself, back then. His name was Athelstan. He always found these festivals very terrible until he got used to them. See - ah, here it is.” The great Viking pulled a small leather pouch from his pocket and opened it; a strong smell of herbs shot out there, and Heahmund wrinkled his nose slightly.

"What's this? Smells like an embalming.” Heahmund muttered; when he looked into the pouch, he could make out extremely small, dried herbs which the Viking King crumbled between his fingers.

He wore a big grin on his face as he looked at Heahmund and raised his hand to let the herbs trickle a little.

“This, my English friend, is the wolf root. We believe that our gods gave us this herb so that we could see the true shape of the world. They give us a feeling for the divine world."

Heahmund raised his eyebrows and watched as the dried root trickled back into the pouch. He returned the king's amused look.

“The… look for the divine? Why are you showing me that?"

Ragnar took Heahmund’s mug with a slight movement; the Christian twitched, but Ragnar only clicked his tongue.

“It’s an honor to receive these herbs. Everyone at this festival took them to themselves - what do you think why people everywhere strip naked? We pay homage to the gods. To refuse it would be an insult."

The pagan king took a pinch of the dried herbs between his thumb and forefinger and sprinkled it in Heahmund’s mug; Heahmund watched, frowning, and something cold ran down his spine as he saw the herbs dissolve with a slight bubbling.

"I-" he began, but Ragnar put the mug into his hand and grinned broadly; suddenly, the king’s blue eyes were no longer friendly, and yet the king laughed.

Heahmund stared into the cup.

“It is an insult to refuse, and as you said - you want to learn everything from us. This is part of it. Everyone drinks it. I would be a bad host to keep it from you. Don't worry - it won't kill you. Drink!"

Heahmund looked up and met the king's eyes, but he knew so too - he had no choice. Ragnar nodded again, and Heahmund fixed his gaze on the mug in his hands. He swallowed - he would probably regret this forever.

But slowly he raised the mug to his mouth and let the drink trickle down his throat. It tasted disgusting with the herbs in it; when the mug was half empty, Heahmund snorted and choked slightly while Ragnar slapped him on the back with a loud laugh.

“Well, you see! You can still become something decent after all. And now - forget your God for an evening and enjoy our festival and the presence of our gods. And whether with a woman or a man - let yourself be carried away!” After these words, the famous man stood up next to him and allowed himself to be drawn back into the flow of the crowd until he was quickly disappeared behind several grimaces and figures.

**\---** **The wolf inside**

Heahmund put his hand on his knee and waited - but nothing happened yet. He took another swig from that mug of disgusting liquid and hissed as he finally set it down. But nothing had changed yet.

When he lifted his gaze and stared through the crowds of people, his vision was a little blurred. He saw naked flesh, the wonderful shapes of feminine curves, women who bared their shame and sat legs apart on some men. A tingling sensation went through Heahmund’s limbs - oh, it had been a long time, too long, since he had indulged the carnal desires of this life. But he would never touch a heathen woman, whatever may come.

After a while, Heahmund got up and headed towards the main hall, which he knew was where all the alcohol was. When he had taken a few steps, however, he suddenly felt a violent dizziness in his limbs - so bad that he had to stand for a moment and leaned his back against a wooden post, breathing deeply.

And although the post was made of sturdy wood, it was completely soft and warm to the touch, and Heahmund leaned his head back for a moment while the dizziness took away any clear vision. He closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened it again, a young woman was standing in front of him, naked. She stared at him, slightly dazed, then raised her hand and placed it on Heahmund’s cheek. The Christian hissed lightly and tried to free his head from the touch; but the woman stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

It was an extremely short kiss, but one that pumped enough adrenaline into Heahmund’s veins that he felt even more dizzy than before. He felt that the young, naked woman disappeared after the kiss, but he remained leaning against the post until he was able to regain control of his senses - even if he didn't succeed enough.

As soon as he set foot on the soft beaten path, the dizziness set in again and made him see at least everything double. All the events and scenes got a strange, reddish sheen - fire looked like a dragon and ran through all the rows. The dancing people looked like devils, rubbing against each other naked. And everything seemed further away and somehow aloof. Heahmund felt his throat grow increasingly dry; it burned inside him, and he needed a drink. He put one foot in front of the other, but the way seemed infinite to him, even if it was only a few hundred meters in principle.

It took him a while to get to the large main house; even if he kept bumping into people, it still seemed like a very soft journey. His body felt strangely light, and he felt incredibly hot in his armor. When he stepped into the main house, he saw the same picture - naked people everywhere, indulging in each other or laughing drunk, music that gave an adrenaline rush with its rhythm. The later it went into the night, the more intense the spectacle became. But meanwhile Heahmund didn't mind - whether it was the herbs or not, he didn't know.

He pushed past a couple of people engaged in a violent sex game - he knew exactly where he was going. Thanks to the Lothbrok brothers, he knew that the best mead was kept in the back rooms, and he might even find some beer, which would certainly do his throat better than this honey wine.

The chambers and back rooms were all silent and without people. There was no one here, although there was even food and barrels full of alcohol. Heahmund grinned slightly; with a slight sway he approached a barrel and poured himself a little mead when a voice suddenly pulled him out of his ecstasy.

Though he was still dizzy, he could see it was Ivar. The youngest of Ragnar’s sons was leaning on a crutch in the doorway, his braided hair a little disheveled, and grinning broadly when he saw Heahmund. There were strange marks on his cheeks, runes, and they looked like they had been painted on with blood.

He had a mug of mead in hand, which spilled suspiciously when Ivar swung it in the direction of Heahmund; it did not seem to bother the Viking. He looked more than drunk because his stance against the crutch didn't look very secure and stable.

He flashed his white teeth and nodded to Heahmund in amusement.

"So you've found my stash," he said, mumbling in his awful accent; Heahmund shrugged his shoulders and took a long sip from the mug he had just filled - and although he usually didn't like mead, this sip was like the best ever. It tasted like the freshest spring water in the world, and Heahmund emptied the cup in one gulp. He didn't care that a little bit of the mead ran down his neck in a fine strip and gave him goose bumps.

When he returned his gaze to Ivar, he saw the young heathen licked his lips and swallowed briefly; his gaze was fixed on Heahmund’s neck, which was completely covered with a soft stream of mead; Heahmund returned the look and gestured with his mug at Ivar.

“This is definitely not your supply. I don’t think so. It will belong to your father, I suppose. What are you doing here?” Heahmund replied; he followed Ivar with the eyes, who moved staggeringly closer to Heahmund. His crutch was the only thing that kept the young Viking on his feet - Heahmund could see how hard it was for Ivar, as drunk as he was, to walk upright and steadfast. But the glowing gaze of the blue eyes was always on him, and he smiled when he heard Heahmund’s words.

“Still, my good Christian, still. One day it will all be mine. I saw you. Outside. I was curious.", Ivar began; although Heahmund’s vision was still obscured, he clearly smelled the sweet smell again, which he had often had in his nose; it grew stronger when Ivar stood shakily in front of him and looked up at the Christian, who was a head taller than Ivar. "Which man rejects a naked woman?"

Heahmund let out a snort; his eyes stopped on Ivar’s face, ran down the skin, and for a brief moment stuck to Ivar’s scar on his cheek, which was also painted with a bloody rune. Only then did he take a deep breath, trying to suppress the rising dizziness.

"Mind your own business" he said roughly; he didn’t miss the flash in Ivar’s eyes, and he also didn’t miss the small canine tooth that rebelliously pressed onto the full lower lip. Heahmund felt heat, irrepressible heat. It crawled through his veins and through his head, clouding his thoughts.

Ivar looked amused; with his cup he pointed to Heahmund’s chest and covered the warrior with the golden, sticky liquid.

“The women like you. I can smell them getting wet when you walk past them. Is that such a Christian thing that you reject them?” Ivar breathed at him; Heahmund’s mouth twitched slightly, and he looked at Ivar with a raised eyebrow.

"I serve my God, and no, I'm not interested in pagan women." Heahmund uttered; he could see Ivar swaying slightly, and yet he saw something like fire in the boy's eyes.

"You're an idiot. I know because you can't even shoot a bow and arrow properly."

Heahmund raised an eyebrow again, then snorted lightly through his nose. When Ivar lost his balance, he grabbed the heathen tightly by the forearm and gave him support.

Ivar laughed softly.

“I'm used to my sword, in my country only the farmers shoot arrows. You should drink less, Ivar."

Ivar looked up again at the sound of his name; Heahmund could feel the heathen clenched his fingers slightly, but the blue eyes stayed on Heahmund’s face.

“You know… it doesn't matter to us if you'd rather fuck a man. Our gods don't pay attention to it... My father gave you the wolfs root, you should feel what I mean..."

Heahmund's head felt dizzy and his grip on Ivar's forearm tightened. He looked at the heathen and anger boiled up in him _. A folk of barbarians, of backwoodsmen, that's what they were. Heathen pack._

"You've seen it? What are you, my watchdog?” Heahmund grunted, and Ivar gave a low chuckle. His fingers twitched and he looked up at Heahmund with a fiery look.

And Heahmund stared back. His body seemed to produce a surge of heat, again, and the dizziness hardened again. He could feel Ivar pressing closer to him, he could smell him, he was so close now. He felt exactly how Ivar’s free hand pressed against his chest, looking for support. The young Viking swallowed.

„Faen meg, Heahmund.“

Heat, anger, coupled with the terrible herb of the Viking King, dizziness and excitement all mingled into a single, concentrated emotion that built up in Heahmund at these moments - he didn't understand what Ivar was saying, but the way _how_ he pronounced it, the way his full lips trembled at the utterance of these words made Heahmund _feel_ _exactly_ what the boy wanted. He could taste it in the burning air, and it seemed like a kind of curse to have been cast and translated to him.

It was less than two seconds before Heahmund grabbed Ivar tightly by the neck and pushed the boy, stomach first, against the nearest free table; he pressed Ivar's neck down firmly and his face with his right cheek against the table top, holding the young lad in check while the latter opened his own trousers full of pleasure and with a coarse moan. Heahmund caught everything in a frenzy - their pants were so quickly removed from their bodies, and Heahmund bit the boy hard on the neck when Ivar uttered a few strange words with a hiss.

It was like Heahmund’s body was being remotely controlled by the heavy mix of too much alcohol and the mysterious herb. His hands ran greedily over Ivar’s body while the boy propped himself up against the table with his elbows for a secure hold; his legs were useless, Heahmund knew that, but they just dangled and didn't interest him. It was much more exciting to wet his own fingers with spit before shoving one of them deep into Ivar’s narrow entrance and teasing the heathen with it.

Ivar let out a coarse, lustful moan - his body tensed a lot, and from the twitching Heahmund knew it must hurt - but he didn't care. All that mattered was that raw, unbridled lust they felt for each other in those seconds and which simply took everything between them. When Heahmund inserted a second finger, Ivar winced violently - he hissed softly, and yet Heahmund bit his neck again to force him to be quiet. It didn't really work because the heathen gave a slight whimper.

„Heahmund…“

It was an ordeal, a goose-skinned ordeal, to know his own name in this stranger's mouth, and at the same time wanting to bury his cock deep in that trembling body - Heahmund had never seduced a man, but his lust drove him all by itself.

And Heahmund had not had sex for too long, had resisted the lusts of the earth for too long to be able to refuse this offer in his condition. He pulled out his fingers and stood behind the boy; Ivar was still hunched over the table with his stomach, and his bottom was splendidly stretched out towards Heahmund; he had soft skin and a fascinatingly beautiful body shape, despite his disability, and Heahmund had to lick his lips before he spat on his own cock with a specific movement and pressed it against Ivar’s narrow and probably not yet stretched entrance. The heathen let out a wonderfully rough groan as he felt the tip of Heahmund’s cock between his buttocks; his fingers clawed the wood of the table tighter.

"It'll hurt." Heahmund hissed at him, although he didn't really care - that devil of a heathen had wanted it that way, and now there was no turning back.

Ivar hissed lightly and threw his head back slightly; when he tried to look back, Heahmund grabbed his neck firmly again and pressed his head back down on the table.

"I don't know any pain," he pressed out, and Heahmund let out an amused "Well then" before penetrating Ivar with a firm jerk. It was an incredible feeling to be immersed in this much too tight heat; Heahmund let out a violent gasp as the narrow, soft walls enclosed him and he was sunk into Ivar’s body until he stopped. He could see from Ivar’s cramped fingers and hands that it must be really painful - but all he felt was pleasure. Pure, raw lust, regardless of any moral. Just sexual fire that bored into every corner of his body and made his veins boil.

He gave Ivar just a breath of pause - after a few moments he began to move his hard cock in this wonderful body, and it gave him massive goose bumps. It was an unbelievable feeling to be drowned by so much lust that after a short time he thrusted harder, still holding the boy by the neck and fucking him so hard that Ivar let out a gasping whimper. Heahmund noticed that pain turned into pleasure when Ivar’s cramped fingers slowly opened and instead, he looked for support to meet Heahmund's rough thrusts.

"You fuck better than you fight!" a coarse accent whispered against him, paired with a pretty smile, and Heahmund tightened his grip on the neck and also grabbed Ivar’s hip firmly, so tight that the young Viking let out a hiss.

"Shut up." was all Heahmund uttered; he thrusted harder, deeper, and found that it finally silenced Ivar. The boy was clearly taken with what Heahmund was doing to him here in the shelter of the chamber; again and again Heahmund felt the hot flashes that shot through the trembling body below him, and he clearly also felt the narrow walls around his cock, which after a while tightened and wanted to milk his cock.

Heahmund groaned; he didn’t let go of the grip on the back of Ivar’s neck and thrusted his cock deeper into the heathen. His hole was widened softly and let Heahmund dip in deep again and again without any problems - his tip was already so swollen that he was sure that he wouldn’t last much longer. So, he pushed his hips deeper into the heathen, thrusting harder when Ivar’s back suddenly arched slightly. A tremendous tremor went through the body below him, and Heahmund took advantage of these few seconds to give another powerful movement before Ivar suddenly and unexpectedly came under Heahmund’s wild thrusts.

The boy swallowed his loud moans, but whimpered louder with each twitch of his cock into his climax. Heahmund took this wave of pleasure to climax himself with Ivar’s twitching muscles. It only took him a few pushes until Ivar’s entrance drove him to such extremes that he came deep and shivering into the young heathen; his sperm splashed deeply, very deeply, before he pressed himself against Ivar’s back with a slight murmur and pumped the last waves of his orgasm deep into the young fellow, until the sensitive nerves elicited another whimper from the boy.

Only then did Heahmund stop his thrusts.

He felt strangely lightheaded when he parted with Ivar’s body; the heathen had a firm print of his hands on the back of his neck, and his right cheek was reddened from the violent sex because it had kept bumping onto the table; besides, the runes on it were now smeared. But the young offspring of Ragnar Lothbrok grinned and licked his lips as he pulled himself onto a bench with an awkward movement. His crutch had landed somewhere on the ground in the frenzy of battle.

They didn't say much; they hadn't kissed or caressed each other once during that brief encounter - it had only been a brief, extremely intense encounter, and when Heahmund had closed his pants he glanced over at Ivar, who was still sitting half-naked on the bench and looked at him with his heated face.

“You should have another drink if you want to think a little more clearly. The herb clouds your head.", Ivar muttered and patted the seat next to him with a soft wave of his hand. Heahmund hesitated; he still felt the distinct dizziness of the herb and alcohol, and no longer cared what was going on. So, he sat down next to Ivar, who had already drawn their two cups to him, and put one in Heahmund's hand.

They glanced at each other before each of them took a long swig from the cup. Heahmund felt Ivar’s gaze fixed on him as he hastily emptied his cup; when he was finished, he put down the mug and met the fiery gaze of the heathen.

"That's what I'm going to hell for," Heahmund said roughly, and he heard Ivar let out a soft laugh.

“Or you will become one of us - then one day you will dine and drink with the gods. Because they don't judge you for things like that."

A sharp canine tooth slipped over Ivar’s lower lip again, and Heahmund felt another wave of dizziness.

"And your father?"

Ivar snorted, and when Heahmund rose he felt slender fingers close around his forearm; warm, liquid blue stared at him, and Heahmund returned the look.

"Better not tell him."

"So, without judgment, hm?" Heahmund said with a grin, and loosened Ivar’s grip on his arm.

And although the herb didn't seem as strong as it did at the beginning, Heahmund couldn't remember when and how he got into bed.

* * *

„Faen meg, Heahmund.“ --- "Fuck me, Heahmund." (who would have thought. :D)

**Author's Note:**

> 1) "Flytt deg, Krist!" –-- “Move, Christian!”  
> 2) "Ta ham hit!" –-- “Take him here!”  
> 3) „Så her er han, en annen kristen fra det fjerne England. Men tror du ikke at han virker mye mindre feminin enn de andre?“ --- "So here he is, another Christian from faraway England. But don't you think he seems much less feminine than the others?”  
> 4) „Han ser ikke ut som en munk! Mer som en kriger. Tok du våpen fra ham?“ - "He does not look like a monk! More like a warrior. Did you take a weapon from him? ”  
> 5) „Vi har tatt et stort, tungt sverd fra ham, min konge.“ - "We have taken a large, heavy sword from him, my king."  
> 6) “Et sverd?” – “A sword?”  
> 7) „Du burde drepe ham, far. Bare en død kristen er en god kristen.“ - "You should kill him, Dad. Only a dead Christian is a good Christian."  
> 8) "Hold kjeft, Ivar," – „Shut up, Ivar.”  
> 9) „Du vil lære ham alt om våre skikker. Han vil lære av deg hvordan vi lever - og du vil gjøre det bra.” - "You will teach him all about our customs. He will learn from you how we live - and you will do well.”  
> 10) „Du er ikke seriøs, far! En kristen? Nei!“ - "You're not serious, Dad! A Christian? No!"  
> 11) „Det er bestemt, og oppfør deg nå!“ -"It's decided, and behave now!"  
> 12) „Du vil oppføre deg selv, Ivar. Lær ham alt, så får du også en belønning for det. Jeg vil ikke høre noen klager. Han heter Heahmund og er en kriger. Vis ham hvor du sover.“ -"You will behave well, Ivar. Teach him everything and you will get a reward for it. I will not hear any complaints. His name is Heahmund and he is a warrior. Show him where you sleep.”  
> 13) „Han skal ikke sove på rommet mitt! Rommet mitt vil stinke av ham.“ -"He's not going to sleep in my room! My room will stink of him. "  
> 14) „Ingen motsetninger. Gå nå!“ -“No contradictions. Go now!"  
> 15) „Følg meg.“ – “Follow me.”  
> 16) "Der sover du!" – “You sleep there.”


End file.
